Arguments and Boyscouts
by But Seriously Im Batman
Summary: Dick and Bruce get into a fight and Dick sneaks out. While out of the manor, he meets everyone's favorite Boyscout, Superman. Bruce, well... Bruce doesn't really like that.
1. Arguments, Pizza, and Boyscouts

**I got this idea like… five seconds ago and couldn't resist. I love Jealous-Daddy!Bats, and Pissed-off!Dick for some reason… oh whelm.**

The cave was, as usual, dark and damp. But tonight, its air was cooler than usual. The sound of gloved fingers typing at computer keys was barely audible against its competing noise.

Alfred sighed as he listened to Dick and Bruce fight; they had been getting more and more frustrated with each other lately. Dick was just as stubborn as Bruce, and Bruce was unable to let Dick have the amount of freedom Alfred suggested was normal for a teenager.

But as recently stated, looks were not the only similarity between son and adoptive father.

"Why can't I tell them? What harm could it bring?"

"That's your argument? 'What harm could it bring?' You know the harm it could bring. Someone could come after you, trying to get at me. They could attack your friends to get to you. They—"

"I get it! But honestly Bruce, who would tell? They know the importance of our secret identities. Kaldur isn't from the surface world; M'gann and Conner are just now getting into the world, they're influence isn't viable; Wally already knows; and Zatanna wouldn't tell if there were a knife pressed to her throat. So why can't I just _tell them_?"

Bruce sat silently for a moment, the movement of his fingers upon the computer keys stilled. He looked at the screen, then at Dick.

"No," and his typing resumed.

Dick growled, literally growled. He raised his hand as to strike his adoptive father, which surprised Bruce. He stopped himself and lowered his hand. Walking away he muttered: "You're so infuriating!"

He ran up the stairs of the cave, taking them five at a time so as to get out sooner.

Bruce watched him leave, feeling, although however the tiniest of an amount, guilty.

He looked to Alfred, who looked (glared) at him before calmly walking up the steps to go check on Dick.

Bruce sighed and continued his research on the Batcomputer.

**~Line Break since my actual line doesn't show up~**

"Master Dick, are you alright?" Alfred was always the one to comfort Dick when Bruce was unmovable on a subject. He was inconsolable this time. It had already been three days and Dick hadn't even looked at Bruce.

Dick had just come down and ate his lunch and was heading back to his room when Alfred had stopped him.

After Dick nodded, Alfred continued: "I realize that you trust your friends, sir, and it is a good thing to have people which you can rely upon. Master Bruce is not untrusting but merely… overprotective. You are one of the only things in this world that he truly cares about, Master Dick. He just doesn't want to lose you."

Dick thought about Alfred's words and sighed. He was right, as always.

"But," Dick looked at Alfred in surprise. There was never a 'but' when Alfred was giving advice.

Alfred smiled and said: "As a young, energetic man, you need more freedom than what is currently being provided. How can I tell Batman that you've snuck out to see some comrades if I, myself, do not know?"

Alfred walked away, leaving Dick grinning like the Joker. Dick quickly darted to his room, retrieving his hologram wrist-computer. He hacked the cameras and set them to loop for approximately thirty seconds, so as to mask his escape.

Bruce was still at Wayne Enterprises and would not be home for another seven hours, considering it was just now 12:05. But Dick was being careful. You had to when you lived with the Batman.

Dick stopped by the garage, planning to take his motorcycle but realized that Bruce would notice its disappearance when he arrived home. Dick planned on being gone all day. With grin set in place upon his face as though it were carved there, Dick took off to the Zeta tube in the backyard.

**~Line Break~**

Bruce sighed as he shuffled papers around his desk. He was missing Dick. Dick, in compliance with not talking or looking at Bruce for the last three days, also didn't go on patrol, which is where they spent most of their time together.

He was distressed. His bird would rather sulk in his room than kick the criminals' asses. Dick loved nothing more than to bring down five guys at once while laughing at their inability to take down a single child.

Bruce was struck with an idea. He had Dick on a straight diet and thought of the perfect plan to amend things. He would still have to work out the whole "Secret Identity" thing but he thought that coming home early to surprise Dick would be a good start.

Bruce called his secretary, Lindsay, in.

"Lindsay, cancel the rest of my meetings today. I'm going home early."

Lindsay's eyes widened in shock. Mr. Wayne _never _went home early.

"O-okay, sir. Right away!"

Bruce threw her a smile and gathered his things, excited to be going home with the one purpose to see his bird.

**~Line Break~**

Bruce walked into the manor holding a carton of ice cream and a box of pizza. He had already called ahead and told Alfred to not make dinner; the butler had sounded… smug for some reason.

Bruce ascended the stairs and kept walking until he reached Dick's room. He knocked on the door and spoke when there was no answer.

"Look, Dick, I know you're mad at me and you probably have every right to be but, I want to make it up to you so I came home early and… well… I thought we could spend the rest of the day together."

There was still no answer from Dick. Bruce sighed; he knew Dick was mad at him, but there was never a point when he had avoided a confrontation, especially one ending in Bruce spending time with him.

Bruce leaned against the door and spoke again: "I said sorry, alright? How many times have you heard that before?" he chuckled. He was getting frustrated at Dick's silence.

"Dick? Please open the door. Dick?"

He went to push open the door only find it locked. He rammed his shoulder into it and broke through with ease.

He scanned the room and saw the window open, curtains blowing in the wind it had let through.

Bruce's eyes widened. He was genuinely frightened because Dick was _gone_.

And _nonononono! _This can't be happening!

He raced down the stairs and hit the secret switch to open the elevator to the Batcave.

His fingers flew over the keys, pulling up Dick's tracking device on the screen.

Nothing. Not even a satellite triangulation. Whoever took his bird was smart. _And he hated it_.

Alfred walked down the stairs, tea in hand, watching as Bruce hurried to slip on his suit and belt.

"Is there a problem, sir?"

Bruce looked up at Alfred, eyes wild, as he replied.

"He's gone Alfred. He's _gone_!"

Alfred looked… _amused_. "Master Dick is in the city, how he put it: 'hanging out' with some of his friends. There is no need to be alarmed, Master Bruce."

Bruce was gaping. He was okay. _He was okay_. But he was still gone.

Bruce was able, now that he was calm enough to use his fingers, to triangulate Dick's position.

Bruce was always overprotective. And he uses the last "friend" Dick had as a reason to watch him. His last friend that Bruce met had wet his pants from Bruce's glare. Bruce had walked up just in time to see Dick and his "friend" playing "punchies" (such a disgrace of a word) and Dick's friend had gotten angry and decided to actually punch Dick.

Dick, of course, just laughed it off but Bruce was no so easily whelmed.

Bruce hacked the nearby security cameras and began to shake in rage at what he saw.

He growled and, under his breath muttered: "I'm going to kill that stupid, idiotic, —"

**~Line Break~**

"Boyscout!" Clark Kent's eye crinkled as he laughed at Dick's use of the "nickname" Bruce had given him.

Clark had been walking home when he spotted the Dark Knight's protégé, alone in the street looking quite sad.

Dick had been in the city for only thirty minutes and was already bored when he realized that none of his friends were available. And then Clark walked up.

He knew Bruce would be upset (hell, downright pissed) if he knew that Dick had snuck out to hang out with Clark, even if it was unplanned.

Since Dick had hit fifteen, he had gotten a lot taller, making him feel less of a child in Clark's presence. They laughed and had a wonderful time, eating ice cream, watching movies at the theater, and even going to the Gotham Arcade.

Clark was laid back and relaxed, unlike a certain bat Dick knew. Clark didn't fight with him, and even let him pick the activities they did.

Clark knew that things were stressful for Dick right now, juggling school with the superhero gig and not being able to be himself with his friends, so he decided that he would hang out with the little bird.

They decided it was time for Dick to go home considering it was dark out already. When Dick started walking, Clark looked at him puzzled.

"Hey, Dick. Do you need a lift?"

Dick spun around and eyed Clark to see if this was a joke. Realizing it wasn't, he ran at Clark and held on for dear life as Clark checked to make sure no one was watching, and then took off into the sky.

Dick giggled as they touched down in the front door of the manor. Yes, he _giggled_. And then blushed as he realized what he had done. Dick Grayson does _not _giggle; he cackles.

Dick waved Clark goodbye before quietly opening the door and sneaking inside. It was now 8:56, and Dick knew Bruce would be home in just a moment.

He didn't expect the lamp to come on in the common room he passed on the way to the stairs. He turned, in a battle stance then tensed when he saw who was in the chair.

Bruce.

"Hello, Dick. Have _fun_ today?"

Dick flinched at his words and sat in the chair across from Bruce.

"Um… yeah. Y-you're home early."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "I've been home since 1:00 this afternoon. I had plans of spending the day with you. I even brought pizza and ice cream."

Suddenly, the ice cream he shared with Clark didn't sit right in his stomach anymore.

"But I see that instead of spending time with me, you'd rather 'hang out' with that… that _Boyscout_!"

Bruce was scowling now, and Dick didn't like it.

"Look, dad, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to—"

"What did you just say?" Bruce was looking at Dick with wide eyes.

Dick had realized what he said and his eyes widened as well. He had called Bruce 'dad'.

"B-Bruce I-I'm so s-sorry," tears were welling in his eyes and he stood.

Bruce stood to keep him from leaving. He heard something behind him and turned to see Alfred watching the scene unfold.

Bruce turned back to face an empty room.

"I wish I hadn't taught him that…"

Bruce was not angry that Dick had called him that. He was thrilled. Dick had only called him that before when he was nine. He had had a nightmare and was screaming. But he had also thought Bruce was his real father, not Bruce Wayne.

Bruce smiled. He wondered if he could get Dick to call him his father again…

**And I'm stopping there because I'm evil. I love the idea that Dick calls Bruce "dad" I think it just shows how well they've bonded and what not. Any-who, here's my random story of he month (cause you know, I never update anymore -_-).**


	2. Days Off and Unpaid Electric Bills

Dick wasn't as upset as he had originally been after his fight with Bruce. He was completely distraught, heavy on the dis. He hadn't meant to call Bruce his dad; it just slipped out.

Bruce had been ecstatic. Although, there was still something that he had to… _deal with_.

**~Line Break~**

Clark Kent was beat. After twelve interviews, Perry on his case about everything except breathing, and Lois yelling at him for stealing Jimmy for the afternoon: Clark was absolutely drained.

So, of course, all he wanted to do was get home as fast as possible. He was thinking about calling Perry and asking for the next day off so he could catch up and relax a bit as he fumbled for his keys out of his satchel and, after finding them, unlocked the door to his apartment.

He could always go to the Fortress to sleep but sometimes he was so tired, he just slept in the cheap apartment he kept uptown.

Slipping into his apartment, ignoring his neighbor flashing "the eyes" at him, he dropped his satchel onto the brown, leather couch. Bruce thought he should have gotten it in black but Clark thought it would be too dark of a color (and besides, Bruce thought _everything_ would look better in black).

He walked into the small kitchen and opened the refrigerator to grab one of the bottles of water he kept stocked up. The apartment was dark and, okay, maybe he kept the apartment but he _might've _forgotten to pay the electric... for the past three months.

He started to waltz towards the bathroom to have a shower and as he did, he faintly heard something, a… pulse of something.

His dark eyebrows scrunched together as he listened to the sound, all thoughts of sleeping forgotten. He strained to listen, which he _never _has to do.

And then it clicked. It was a heartbeat. He had trained himself to only hear them when necessary but sometimes if the heartbeat was close, he could still hear it. Then he realized that there was also the faintest of breaths being made.

He only knew of one person that could have that quiet of vital movements, and by the time his eyes widened, he knew it was too late.

The lamp that he kept placed at his recliner suddenly lit itself and there he sat: Bruce Wayne, one leg graciously propped upon the other, hands together and fingers knitted through one another.

Clark knew that Bruce was stealthy but damn, _how did he get in_? Clark then mentally slapped himself. This was _Batman_.

Clark chuckled nervously.

"Hey there, Bruce. H-how did you get the lamp to work? I haven't paid the electric in almost three months."

Bruce glared.

"Electromagnetic pulse in reverse, drawing electricity from the air and surfaces around it to incorporate energy in the bulb long enough to illuminate. If strong enough, the bulb can stay lit for _quite_ a while."

The tone in his voice implied the one thing that Clark already knew: He didn't give a _damn_ about the electric (although Clark wouldn't put it past him to already know the due date for the payments).

"S-so. Why are you here? N-not that I don't want you here, of course! I-I just… you hardly visit unless provoked."

'Provoked' was probably not the best word choice, considering the fact that Bruce growled…

"Yes, Clark, I was _provoked_. I recently had an argument with my son and, after deciding I'd take an entire day off of work, work that has to be made up now, to make it up to him, I find him not only _gone_, but spending time with the Man of Steel himself."

His eyes narrowed. His body was completely relaxed as though he wasn't threatening Clark's life (okay, he didn't _say it_, but if you could see the look he was giving Clark…).

"Look, Bruce, I knew that you knew—"

"You _knew_? And you continued to spoil _my _son with ridiculous treats and games when he should be home?"

"I meant that I knew that you would find out so I thought it would be okay. He was with me the entire time and I didn't take my eyes off him, he was safe."

"I'm not worried about his _safety_, Clark. I know he is perfectly capable of defending himself in a situation, should one arise. Even against _you_."

He suddenly stood and before Clark could blink, which was _very _quickly, Bruce had him by his throat, pressed against a wall, eyes fierce and burning.

Even without kryptonite, Clark doubted he could've moved. Bruce was very strong, stronger when angry, and Clark was paralyzed in fear (and, by the way, he _totally_ didn't stand there for an hour and a half after Bruce left).

"Let me put it this way, so as to make it perfectly clear to you, _Clark_," he spat his name.

"If you are out with my son, I want to know immediately. I want to know for how long, where you will be, when, if the location moves, who all will be there, what the activities will be, how he will be transported (because he sure as _hell_ won't be flown by you again), and I expect an update every twenty minutes. Understood?"

Clark couldn't breathe. The heel of Bruce's hand was shoved against his trachea and the air way was closed off (which _should_ be impossible but hey, it's Bruce we're talking about here).

Bruce took it as Clark being stubborn and pushed his palm harder against Clark's throat. Clark nodded vehemently.

Bruce dropped him to the floor and backed away towards the recliner he had previously been sitting in.

He straightened his suit jacket and, with either magic or perfect timing, he looked at Clark, narrowed his eyes, and took off into the shadows as the lamp had gone out.

Yeah. Clark was _definitely _going to take a day off the next day…


End file.
